Soul, Lend Me Your Tongue

You say that you’re not beautiful, but I won’t give credence to the lie.

For every day I’ve known you, was a study in poetry.

A meditation in lines, of grace in movement.

Of style, and poise of manner.

Your face a thousand flags, a war cry for your banner.

Your body is a temple, on your altar pay my dues.

You break my throne asunder, but I never feel ill used.

And play me like a fiddle, but I always love the tune.

Everything I’ve ever thought was stunning, fair, divine,

You are these things, in spades,

And I’m so blessed to call you mine.